Heal Me
by weaving-counter-melodies
Summary: On his 17th birthday HP comes into his creature inheritance-one that he didn't know existed. He struggles to find out who/what he is and overcome his emotional problems from abuse with the help of Snape who takes him on as an apprentice TW Self-Harm HPSS
1. Awaken

A piercing bright light shined through the window of Number Four, Privet Drive causing the sleeping figure in the smallest bedroom to shift in his saggy single cot. As the ray of sunlight hit his skin, the shape turned and mumbled unintelligibly. He then fell unceremoniously to a heap on the floor, a movement which brought sharp pain to his back. Now wide awake, Harry reached for his glasses. He cursed sleepily as they evaded his grasp only to shatter on the floor; repeated 'reparos' had only done so much for the battered lenses over the years. Harry never noticed that he could see clearly this morning—even without his glasses on.

Harry stretched, doing his best to ignore the acute pain that every movement brought. "What the hell?" he thought. Harry knew that his Uncle Vernon had beaten him particularly badly the night before. After all, his uncle had said, what kind of treatment did a freak deserve for not finishing the chores on time? He had, however, not expected this kind of pain. Harry knew by now how much pain to expect after different types of infractions. His uncle had used 'corporal punishment' ever since Harry could remember.

Harry furrowed his brow, momentarily confused. He tried to remember the previous night, but his mind was clouded due to the extreme hunger that he had yet become acclimated to this summer. Harry sighed, wondering if he was desperate enough to open some of the food parcels he had stored under the floorboards.

Clambering carefully to his feet from his current heap on the floor, Harry stretched and gasped as another sharp pain riddled his small malnourished body. Perhaps now it was time to use some of the pain relieving salve he'd bought in Diagon alley last year.

Harry noiselessly pried the loose floorboard up and winced when it emitted a slight thud as he set it down. The faint scent of beef jerky wafted up from the small confined space where he'd stuffed all the contraband that could be smuggled in. For the first time since Harry had returned to Number four, Privet Drive, he smiled. Not one of the fake smiles he had worn as he said 'Goodbye' to Ron and Hermione, but the smile of a starving man presented with a feast. Harry knew that he had to ration it, make it last all summer, but he was sorely tempted to eat it all at once like a child who has just received chocolate for his birthday.

Harry took out the salve and a stick of jerky, hoping to reduce the horrible emptiness of hunger and the sharp aching of mysterious back pain. He reverently brought the jerky to his lips and sank his teeth into the meat. His incisors felt…different somehow, as if they weren't the same shape as before, but Harry dismissed that errant thought as an effect of not eating and using his mouth for a few days. Harry swallowed and ran his tongue over his teeth. Blood flooded his mouth as Harry swiped his tongue over a canine.

"Okay that definitely wasn't the same as before," he thought. "My teeth definitely didn't do that before. Weird."

Too ravenous to think anything of it, Harry finished his jerky and got out a water bottle, his Adam's apple bouncing as he chugged down the water.

"Returning to this hellhole every summer taught me to appreciate the little things in life I guess."

Water had never tasted so good.

"I guess being deprived of basic necessities will do that do you," Harry thought bitterly, a sarcastic smile twisting his lips.

He glanced at the cracked glass of the alarm clock Dudley had smashed a few years ago by throwing it against the wall. It read 6:30. Harry thought that, if he hurried, he could take reach the bathroom and take stock of his injuries and get started with breakfast for the Dursleys before the rest of the house woke up. Joints protesting, muscles burning, Harry rose from his bed and shuffled across the hall to the loo. Harry stood in front of the mirror and nearly fainted from shock.

He wasn't Harry anymore! The figure that stood in front of the mirror didn't even look human, let alone like him. Harry almost wondered if this was Fate trying to play a cruel joke on him, but he was far too used to being abnormal to do anything but morosely accept it. He only wondered how his uncle would react to his changed appearance. Harry walked distractedly into his room, h anxiety rising, leaving the pain salve forgotten on the bathroom counter.

Luckily for Harry, Vernon Dursley didn't get up till 7:45 and was usually the last of the family to enter the kitchen in the morning. Not so luckily for Harry this gave him time to fret and worry. Harry had just begun breakfast and he had already spilled something twice and nearly knocked over the pan of eggs. His heart rate was frenetic as he franticly paced about the kitchen. Somehow he managed to cook breakfast at the same time. He hoped beyond hope that a miracle would happen and his relatives would somehow not notice the changes to his appearance that had happened over night.

Harry forced himself to calm down and sighed. He knew that what he was hoping for was impossible. How could they not notice that he was even more of a freak than usual? "I bet they didn't even know that was possible," he thought spitefully.

Miraculously, Harry managed to have breakfast on the table at the usual time, though he burnt himself twice in his nervous distraction. Harry busied himself with cleaning the dishes that he had used for cooking as a horse-faced woman in a pink floral housedress entered the room and sat down on a padded seat.

"Dudders! Come downstairs and eat with Mummy!" she called shrilly to her pride and joy, her only son. Dudley soon lumbered down the stairs, triple chin wobbling on every step. "It's sickening," Harry thought as he furiously scrubbed a pan, "that Dudley should weigh as much as two teens his height and that I should weigh less than half of one."

Harry reached for another dish, wondering why they hadn't noticed the changes yet. He had wings and a tail, for Merlin's sake!

A police siren blared in the distance, the harsh sound disturbing a quiet morning and causing the inhabitants of the room to jump slightly. It seemed indecently early for trouble anywhere in Britain. Just then, Harry lost his grip on the ceramic dish he was placing in the cabinet and spun around to catch it – his Seeker's reflexes kicking in. He then noticed a conspicuous lack of the swish that had present when he was moving earlier. His tail had disappeared! His wings were also gone! If not for the lingering back pain, Harry was tempted to think that his weird morning had been just a dream. However, he was forced to assume that he had somehow stowed his wings and tail out of instinct for safety reasons. Harry slowly brought a hand up to his face. Alas, those changes were still present.

Desperate to get the dishes done before his uncle came into the kitchen, Harry grabbed another dish and thrust it under the scalding water, wincing slightly. He could hear the methodical lumbering footsteps of Vernon Dursley enter the room. Harry just hoped that he'd go unnoticed. Harry glanced over his shoulder anxiously as Vernon Dursley plunked himself down into a chair that creaked under his hefty weight. Vernon Dursley was even more whale-like than his son.

Vernon Dursley loaded up his plate and said 'Good Morning' to his wife and son. It was the calm before the storm. Mr. Dursley snapped the morning paper open and shook it straight. Harry flinched at the sudden sharp sound and Mr. Dursley looked up dangerously, narrowing his eyes at the freak who dared to force himself upon their generosity.

It was then that he noticed the change.

"Just when I thought you couldn't get any FREAKIER," he hissed dangerously, "You do this. I don't even WANT to know what you are. This is the last straw."

Petunia and Dudley stopped their conversation at his tone and looked up. Vernon's face had taken on an unhealthy purple tint to it and he looked to be on the verge of exploding.

Harry dropped the dish he was holding and Vernon's control snapped. He roared at Harry,

"GET OUT! OUT OF MY HOUSE YOU FREAK!" "YOU'RE JUST LIKE YOUR FREAKY FATHER AND YOUR FREAKY MOTHER AND THEIR FREAKY FRIENDS OF THEIRS! NOW YOU'VE GONE AND DONE IT! YOU'RE EVEN WORSE THAN THEY WERE! I WON'T HAVE IT! NOT IN MY HOUSE, NO SIR! I WON'T HAVE IT!" Vernon Dursley spit each work out with years of pent up hatred that had only previously been expressed through beatings, starvation, and neglect. He lumbered to the closet under the stairs and wrenched the door open with his meaty fist, splintering the wood around the locks. This BOY was getting out of his house RIGHT THIS INSTANT. "GO! GET YOUR THINGS! YOU'RE LEAVING THIS HOUSE AND NEVER COMING BACK! YOU'RE NOT WELCOME HERE AND YOU NEVER WILL BE SO DON'T COME BACK HERE AND DON'T EVER BRING YOUR FREAKY FRIENDS AROUND OUR HOUSE OR OUR DUDDERS! I DON'T CARE IF SOME MANIAC IS AFTER YOU! YOU. ARE. NEVER. COMING. BACK!"

Harry silently stood stock still in the kitchen, frozen in shock. He could only stop and stare in horror at the scene unfolding before his eyes. It was only in the silence following Vernon's outburst that Harry realized that he needed to MOVE if he was going to escape this nightmare of a house.

All of a sudden, it was as if his muscles could work again. Harry charged at his trunk and school things and dug out his wand, before Vernon could change his mind.

He whipped out his wand and performed shrinking and lightening charms on his things, ministry restrictions be damned. He shoved the shrunken trunk into his pocket and raced upstairs, muscles screaming at every step, digging at the empty place below his floorboards in desperation. Once he had extricated everything, he looked at Hedwig's empty cage and stopped for a moment. He would leave that, he decided. He didn't need to take with him a memento of the beloved pet Vernon had killed.

Harry rushed back down the stairs and out of the house. He had to get away from there whilst he still had the chance. Harry was a speeding bullet down the lane and to the park. Instinctually, he fled to the place where he had sought refuge from Dudley and his gang as a child. He didn't even pause to look back at the house he had spent 17 years caged inside.

Hair flying back around his face, Harry pelted down the pavement, feet pounding the asphalt. He was running harder than he ever had in his life; he was running for freedom. This was more important than getting away from Dudley and his gang. This was a permanent escape.

He was soon forced to stop and walk as he ran out of breath and grew tired. He walked and walked until he stumbled, exhaustion evident. In reality, Harry had not gone all that far, his body simply couldn't take the stress that sprinting put it under. "Starvation does tend to do that to you," Harry thought as he approached the park.

In the distance, children were playing tug-of-war. One of the children hadn't joined a side yet and looked on as his friends on either side called to him. Harry felt like that sometimes. He knew that he was the supposed savior of the Light side, but what if he wasn't? What if the sorting hat was right and he did belong in Slytherin? Now he didn't know where he belonged anymore.

Ron had spoken about the inheritance that happened to a wizard on his 17th Birthday. Usually it was just a power boost, he said, unless you had creature blood in your veins. Harry remembered joking with Ron about how they thought Draco had Veela blood. Herminone just shook her head as if to say that they should take it more seriously, an inheritance was an important thing. Now, Harry wished he had paid more attention. He had just figured that he was unlikely to receive anything, besides, it was almost a month until his birthday, he couldn't have his inheritance. Thinking about his friends make Harry yearn for their presence more than ever. He just felt so….alone.

Harry walked into the forest the enclosed the park on one side. Normally a forest this dense attached to a playground would be a prime area for hobos and stoners, but none seemed to inhabit this one. Before, Harry had just assumed this was due to a rabid neighborhood civilian watch, but now he wasn't so sure. There was kind of an ethereal feeling about this wood that was vaguely uplifting. He felt...safe. Harry blinked in surprise. He hadn't felt safe in years. Ever since he could remember, he had never felt safe in Little Whinging during the summer and Ever since fourth year, he had always been on watch at school. Harry cautiously drew his wand, deciding that a feeling of safety that emitted from a forest must be artificial and a trap. Such was the wary wartime mentality of one Harry Potter, seventeen years old.

A rustle rang out in the bushes and echoed in the forest. Harry whirled, alarmed, attempting to locate the source of the noise. A bunny hopped out of the thorns of a bush and onto a path then paused and looked back at Harry. Harry was tempted to release a hysterical laugh, for it appeared as if the rabbit wanted him to follow it. But hey, he had seen stranger things in the wizarding world. Deciding that he was somehow in Wonderland and that he made a very poor Alice, Harry took a step forward. The rabbit hopped away from him, following the path. Harry looked about to see if anyone was watching—partly for security but also to check if anyone was watching him make a fool of himself by following a bunny. He then moved forward towards where the rabbit had stopped then paused, waiting for the bunny to continue before following.

They continued this routine for a while, piquing Harry's curiosity as he noticed that he was in an unfamiliar part of the forest. "Huh, that's weird. I thought I thoroughly explored this forest as a kid." As they walked, Harry could feel the stress of the morning melting away from him. It felt good to be in this peaceful forest. The greenery felt more rich, the flowers appeared more vibrant, and everywhere he looked Harry could see life thriving about him. Playful fox kits tackled one another as their mother glanced up at Harry. Strangely enough, the vixen didn't seem to be alarmed at his unknown presence in the wood. Continuing on his path, Harry gazed about him, even the moss creeping up the robust oak trees seemed full of life. Sunshine filtered through the canopy and played upon the faces of wildflowers nestled between the boughs of a fallen oak tree. It was breathtaking, this beauty Harry had never experienced before. Sure, he had been in the forbidden forest, but that had always seemed ominous and vaguely dangerous. This place seemed more wholesome and walking here brought a genuine smile to Harry's face. Through the trees, a wide-eyed doe grazed without fear, barely raising her head as Harry passed beside her glade.

All of a sudden, the rabbit stopped directly in front of the largest tree Harry had ever seen. Surely they couldn't be in the forest behind the playground anymore, he thought. "I've walked too far not to come out the other side and this tree is too huge not to rise above the canopy and be noticed from outside the forest." Just then, Harry noticed that it was getting dark. He hadn't realized that he'd been walking for so long or that he'd remained for so long in the park thinking. It would be impossible to leave the forest before night fell. Harry felt apprehensive about resting in a forest where he could be injured in his sleep, but he didn't see any other alternative. The hours had just seemed to melt away as he left civilization farther and farther behind.

Walking over to the tree, he saw a Harry-sized hollow between protruding roots in the base of the tree. The way the roots were shaped, one could almost imagine that the tree roots were cradling Harry as he laid down. The rabbit had not yet hopped away and instead moved toward Harry. Right then, if it wasn't evident before, Harry could tell that this was no ordinary bunny. A normal rabbit would never approach a strange man, much less hop onto a tree root and start licking the forehead of said man. Harry frowned, wondering if he should attempt to stop the rabbit's actions, but deciding to chance it. All the worries he had and the anger at his relatives receded with the rabbit's soothing licks. As she bathed Harry's forehead with her tongue, Harry no longer felt the self loathing he normally felt and he no longer felt so confused about his inheritance. It seemed like everything would be okay. Wait, no. That wasn't right, he reminded himself. Things aren't okay. Once he entertained that thought, he could see how the situation at his relatives, and his inheritance weren't okay, but he no longer felt so acutely the negative emotions associated with each situation. He let himself relax.

Suddenly, a voice rang out in the air, as clear as a bell. "Welcome to my forest, young Harry Potter." Harry shot up, immediately alarmed. A multitude of thoughts whirled through his mind. 'Was the rabbit just sent to lower his guard? Is this a trap by Voldemort? Damn I have got to be more careful. Just because it seems pure, does not make it so!' Harry whirled, seeking a mouth for the disembodied voice and a chuckle echoed through the forest, making the leaves of every tree shake, but most especially the leaves of the massive tree he had laid down against. Eyes widening, Harry realized that it was the _tree_ speaking to him. Terrified, Harry quaked in his boots but stood his ground. He wasn't sure whether to answer or not, so he remained silent.

"Are you here to seek refuge from the world, young Harry?"

Harry could not seem to find the voice to craft a reply, so the tree prodded again.

"Why have you come here, Harry? You have not been here in many years."

This time Harry answered. "I'm here because I didn't know where else to go. I've escaped from a bad place, but now I have nowhere to go. Hogwarts won't let me stay there over the summer."

"Are you sure that you cannot go to Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"Because I saw Tom Riddle ask the Headmaster to stay over the summer when he was a student and he was denied."

"Anyone may seek refuge at Hogwarts and Hogwarts will usually grant it. Albus Dumbledore does not control this. Hogwarts itself does."

Harry asked in wonder, "Who are you? How do you know who I am? How is it that you know so much about the outside world if you live in a forest?"

"I am a Deku tree, a being of Good. I hear things in the rustling of leaves in the wind, things that you could not even imagine. You are Harry Potter. I know this because I knew your parents. No, not James and Lily," The Deku tree said, forestalling any questions.

"I mean your birth parents before Lily and her mates blood adopted you. Your birth parents were Elvish Nymphs. Your mother was of Earth and Water and your father was of Air and Fire. They both had Shadow Elvish Nymph blood in their veins. It was forbidden for them to have a child as it would have all five bloodlines, a dangerous thing. They were headstrong ones, your parents were, and decided to have a child anyway. But it soon became apparent that the child would be in danger unless they hid it away. Lily was a friend to your parents and a Wyvern Sylph. She blood adopted you as did her mates, James, Remus, and Sirius. The date of your blood adoption is celebrated as your birthday, about a month after you were born. When James and Lily were murdered you were given to the Dursleys because Sirius was in Azkaban and Remus was a werewolf and the ministry discriminated and wouldn't let him have custody. The blood adoption was held in a safe place, under my boughs. That is how I know, and that is all I know. I am a Deku tree and a being of Good. If you can be around me, you are Good. Always remember that no matter how the ministry may classify you, dark does not always equate to evil, just as light does not equate to good."

"Wow," Harry breathed, sitting down hard as he took it all in. His world view had just been turned on its head. All of a sudden Harry's eyes began to well with tears and the rabbit frantically started to lick him again. Later he would attribute this to allergies from being in a foreign forest. He would never admit that this act of kindness without seeming to want anything from him seemed angelic to him, especially after living with the abusive Dursleys. Even back at Hogwarts, much was expected of him. Those who supported him only did so because he was the savior of the world. In return, he was expected to singlehandedly defeat Voldemort, a feat which even the renowned Albus Dumbledore couldn't pull off. It frustrated him that this was required of him, that he had no choice in the matter, that no one wanted him for who he was. A quivery voice rose from his throat.

"But, why are you helping me?"

Harry just couldn't understand why this tree would want to help him without getting anything in return.

"I told you, I am a being of good. Why you, specifically? Well you wandered into my forest and needed help and I can sense that great things are expected of you and you may need a bit of aid. No one should have to do everything alone. Also, I'm dying. Quite rapidly in fact. I thought I might impart my great and boundless wisdom…,"

Harry got the impression that the tree was winking at him,

"…before I go. I am also going to give you a gift. Now this may sound a little strange to your human conventions, but I am gifting you with my body."

Harry started to interrupt, wanting to know why he would need a bunch of wood and leaves, but the tree didn't let him.

"You probably didn't pay attention to this in school"

Here a sound of indignation could be heard from Harry.

"Oh, hush. You know you didn't. The wood of a Deku tree has many magical properties and can be used in wand making. I get the sense that you haven't really applied yourself in school and so you don't know the limits of your wand, especially the average wand of a schoolboy, but you need a more powerful wand to cast more powerful spells and effectively channel power. I encourage you to get a quality wand made from my body. It will help you along the way. Just perform a summoning charm and shrinking charm in quick succession so that the wood shrinks before it hits you. I'm also leaving you 5 Deku nuts. These nuts will produce Deku trees when planted but they need special care. I encourage you to plant one in the Forbidden Forest, but the rest are completely yours. Goodbye young Mr. Potter."

Before Harry even got the chance to say goodbye, a sort of sigh echoed in the forest and the soul of the Deku tree seemed absent. He hadn't noticed the tree breathing, perhaps it seemed like wind, but suddenly it was missing and Harry found that he missed those old breaths, those words that fell slowly like the first drops of a summer rain. All at once the Forest seemed less like a non-threatening, good place. Bewildered, Harry hurried to collect the wood of the Deku Tree and the Deku Nuts, before putting both in his pocket. There was now a large hole left in the forest and it seemed like a fitting memorial of the great being that had once proudly arrayed his resplendent branches there. Harry stared at the space the Deku tree had been, lost in contemplation. The rabbit licked his ankle, but this time he felt none of the serenity that the bunny had previously exuded. The rabbit hopped away onto the dark path and Harry rushed to follow it. He could only hope that it led to a safe playground in Little Whinging.


	2. Run and Examine

Harry could see the night sky above him now as he passed into the newer part of the forest. It seemed a little more normal now, a little less like he was in a subterranean world, removed from time and the outside world. The air was crisp and clean, free of the musky scents of the wood and stars twinkled faintly above. On the grassy knoll, he could see night mist hovering over the football field. Stepping out into the playground, Harry felt the gravel crunch beneath his feet as the smell of diesel reached his nose. Glancing up again, he noticed the lights of an airplane clear the smog he had mistaken for clouds. Yes, this again was Little Whinging, this again was urban Britain, full of concrete and metal and oil.

Harry hastily crossed the playground, knowing full well that it was past curfew and the lecture he would get from Hermione. Harry rolled his eyes. He could almost hear the dressing down now. 'You were out HOW late? Alone? In the dark? Where any number of unsavory muggles or deatheaters could get you! You should know better than this by now. What would Sirius think?' How he hated it when they brought up Sirius. As if he needed reminding. Even though his death was several years ago, the memories stung like a fresh wound. And they always seemed to forget how rash and irresponsible Sirius really was. They thought they could just dredge up his death as an admonishment to constant vigilance, but they forgot how Sirius lived his life. Shaking his head as if to clear out memories as if they were water, Harry trudged through the playground and did the only conceivable thing a wizard who wished to remain unnoticed could logically do. He called the Knight Bus.

The dilapidated death trap hurtled around the corners with many a screech and groan. It appeared to be staying upright through sheer force of will and appeared to remain moving at tremendous speeds on similar grounds. Harry's stomach leaped into his mouth at the very sight of it. He swallowed, hoping that he could stave off emesis until he arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. He _really_ had to find a better means of travel. Fortunately for Harry, the bone-wrenching journey managed to avoid hitting any living obstacles – though he could never be sure which of the jerks was intentional and which involved a startling near miss. Stan Shupike thankfully did not recognize his changed appearance, a fact which Harry was grateful for. He didn't know if he could deal with Stan attempting to talk _and_ drive. In fact, he wondered if anyone had ever been to trauma counseling as a result of their experiences on this rattling piece of junk.

Steam rose from the sewer and gave night-time London an ethereal feeling, yet the yellow flickering lights from inside the leaky cauldron brightened the night. It seemed like a beacon to Harry, a place of warmth in the chill city. He was greeted with a merry wave from Tom the Barman.

"A room for the night lad?"

"uh, yes please, would you mind if I paid in the morning, I need to go to Gringotts."

Tom was the trusting sort, but he had too many years experience with travelers to normally accept that. There was something about Harry that made him hesitate though.

"Normally I wouldn't make exception to my rule…"

Tom pointed to a sign tacked on the wall that read, 'All rooms must be paid for upfront.'

"But ye have a wholesome look about you lad. Just make sure you pay me 'afore lunch tomorrow."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He only had enough money for a meal with him. He would have to go to the bank tomorrow, but right now all he wanted to do was rest. It had been a long day and the promise of a bed and warm covers was very alluring.

Tom led the way upstairs and unlocked a room before slipping an old brass key off his key ring and handing it to Harry.

"What was that name again lad?"

"uh…."

Harry panicked. He forgot to come up with something on the Knight Bus; he had been rather preoccupied with making sure the contents of his stomach stayed the contents of his stomach.

"Nerin Thrasos"

"Foreign then?"

"Uh not really, my parents were just herbologists, Nerine is this pink flower from, like, Africa or something."

Good, people were more likely trust the son of herbologists. Good thing Petunia had made him spend hours tending the Dursley garden. Finally something from them was coming in handy.

"Good night then Nerin."

"Night Tom."

Harry turned the brass knob and entered the small room. It seemed comfy and suddenly Harry was exhausted. He sank down on the bed, worn out from the stress of the day. He was hungry too, he realized. Now that the adrenaline had finally cleared his system, Harry noticed his insistently growling belly. He dug around in his pockets and enlarged the bag of rations without thinking about it. Harry froze. Shit. Shitshitshit. The trace. Harry wasn't seventeen yet. The ministry should be pounding on his doorstep any minute now.

In fact, they should have been notified the second he performed that first shrinking charm on his trunk as he left his respectable brick cage. Did this count as evading law enforcement now?

Well one more couldn't hurt. He was already going to get his wand snapped anyway it seemed. Besided, Hermione always told him to double check everything, especially the things he was the most sure of.

Quickly, Harry preformed an age spell on himself. It revealed that he had turned seventeen as of last night.

It was impossible, utterly impossible. Everyone knew the birthday of the famous Harry Potter. Including himself. But this, coupled with what the Deku tree told him and the changes that happened to him overnight… It seemed that Harry Potter was not quite himself.

At the time, Harry had only been focused on getting to the Leaky and renting a room for the night. He hadn't the time to let the information seek in. This shocked him and he didn't know what to do about it. So, as he had every time he needed information for the last seven years, he went to Hermione for help.

Enlarging his trunk and digging out parchment and a quill, Harry hastily penned a letter asking Hermione if there were any family tree spells, or birth certificate spells or the like. He did not explain his flight from the Dursleys, nor what had happened in the forest, telling her only that he was staying at the Leaky and it would be a good idea not to tell anyone until he had found his bearings.

Harry swore at the folded parchment. It was glaringly obvious that he'd have to wait until morning to mail it as Hedwig's last journey had been to the spirit realm.

Ah well, might as well adjust to the changes.

Harry stood up and walked over to the mirror in the adjoining bathroom. Slowly, carefully, as if he were apprehensive about what he might see, he let his eyes scan his body, taking in all the changes. Head first he thought. Concentrate on one area and it won't be so overwhelming. Head first.

He had been able to forget about how he looked for the rest of the day, but how he came face to face with harsh reality. A stranger peered out at him through the mirror.

Meeting his own eyes, he found his irises large and ringed with black. They were a vibrant green, but as he stared more closely at the metallic flecks within the iris, his eyes changed to a deep indigo. He stumbled away from the mirror in shock. What was he, a bloody chameleon? These changes were certainly not characteristic of any magical creature he had read about. But then again, Harry though ruefully, he had never really paid attention in class, had he?

Stepping forward, he bent close to the mirror to examine the changes again. He was pale, not sickly, but definitely a quite a few shades closer to ivory. Complexion aside, the most notable change was in his bone structure. Harry now sported sharp, high cheekbones and large eyes that slanted up ever so slightly. A slender sloping pert nose had also taken up residence on his face. Paired with arched eyebrows and a sharp pointed chin, Harry looked almost nothing like himself. He smiled. That was good. For now, anonymity would keep him alive. It also had the wonderful side effect of keeping the order from hovering over his shoulder.

Harry also noticed that he no longer needed glasses. In fact, everything seemed sharper and more vibrant than before, even with his glasses on. All of his senses seemed heightened. He could see the grains of wood in the wall, could hear the snoring of a man two rooms over, and could smell the myriad of things spilt on the floor of the tavern downstairs.

Harry opened his mouth, expecting the slightly enlarged canines and sharpened incisors that he had felt before. He was surprised to be met with his normal teeth, albeit rather unbrushed ones. Yet the moment he thought about the lack of fangs, yes he supposed they were fangs, his teeth lengthened and sharpened. Nothing could stay the same, could it? The same proved true about his newfound retractable claws—they would appear only when needed or wanted. Well, at least, he could remain somewhat inconspicuous in that regard.

His hair had grown to just past his shoulder length and remained inky black, though it was now sporting several golden streaks, notably at his temples.

Harry took a deep breath. Now for the truly weird aspects. Harry slowly unbuttoned his shirt, not wanting his wings to burst through as they had out of stress when Vernon started yelling. Harry exhaled and fixed the image of his wings in his mind. He felt them emerge through his skin and his back twinged. That was what hurt this morning, Harry realized. His wings.

Harry had two giant black and emerald wings protruding from his back. They touched the walls and Harry found he could not stretch out entirely in this tiny bathroom. He longed to be in open air, to extend fully, and to fly. Now his passion for flight made sense. The youngest seeker in a generation, they had called him. They said he had uncanny natural ability in the air. He said he was having fun. It felt like in the air was the only place where Harry could truly breathe and think. Or not think. The place where he could leave his thoughts behind if he wished to and just soar, forgetting the world. He was at home in the sky and now he longed for it more than ever. He ran his fingertips over the feathers, feeling their silky texture. He couldn't wait to put them to use!

Twisting around, Harry could also see that he was now sporting a tail. It resembled a fox's tail in every way save mobility. He had control of it and it moved like a cat's tail, though it was quite a bit longer.

In short, Harry Potter, or rather Nerin Thrasos, was quite a sight. Shaking his head, Harry banished his wings, tail, claws, and fangs. At least now he looked human.

Climbing into bed, Harry squirmed about under the blankets until he was comfortable and surrendered to the grasp of oblivion. He was too tired for dreams to plague him this night as they had for every other ever since he could remember. Dreams of the Dark Lord, of Sirius' death, of his parents, of his uncle's hands. Whatever the subject material, he invariably woke up shaking and terrified. This night was blissfully peaceful though as he rode the ship over the seas of dreams, for once not drowning amongst the memories.


	3. Chapter 3

Crying. He was crying. He didn't know how he got here.

Curled up in a ball on the floor of the bathroom, Harry potter had tears streaming down his face and blood flowing down his arms. Again and again and again, he had taken the razor in his hand and carved lines into his forearm. He did not slash his arms; his hand moved slowly and steadily. He wanted to feel every second that the razor bit into his skin. He could feel the blood welling up on his arms, coming to the surface. And yet he felt numb. Numb all over. Because nothing could make him really feel anything but empty. Not even this physical pain could distract him for long. But he deserved it. Every drop of crimson liquid pouring from his veins deserved to be spilt. He was worthless. He was supposed to be the savior of the light side. He was supposed to SAVE people. That was what saviors did. Not kill them.

Harry didn't get angry anymore, he just got sad. He didn't know when he had started internalizing the pain. He didn't really have a choice to do anything but that in the Dursley household. Anything else earned him a beating. He could not scream out his frustration, lash out in rage at his unfair lot in life. He had too heavy of a burden on his shoulders and no way to deal with it. Shoulders that he was told everyday were worthless, belonged to the most worthless person on the planet. He was a good-for-nothing waste of space who couldn't do anything right. He was a freak.

There are only so many times one can hear a thing every day and not have it lodge itself in their mind.

Harry's hand began to move almost of its own accord, to carve freak into his skin. A mirror image of the scars that riddled his body. Not from his own hand, but from Vernon's.

Freak. Bastard. Idiot. Good-for-nothing. Stupid. Satanist. Destined-for-eternal-damnation. Waste-of-Space. Not Good Enough. Cedric. Sirius. Alone.

Words took shape all over his body; old scars breaking open and new ones being created with an almost accidental wordless slashing hex.

Harry rested his head against the cool tile wall of the bathroom. He felt the warm blood slithering out of his body. He welcomed the blackness dancing around the edges of his vision. He knew that blackness was his only respite, that waking, he could never escape his own mind. But madness and death were the coward's way out, so Harry refrained from going upstream and cutting major arteries. He achieved a temporary emotional release through cutting, rather than a permanent one through death.

Inhaling deeply, Harry was surprised to find that his throat was scratchy from the force of his own sobs. The sobs that had ripped silently from him as he stood shaking, supporting his weight with his palms on the counter, making a conscious effort to hold himself up. That was how everyday felt for Harry. Like a conscious effort to hold himself up and face life rather than make the easy descent into insanity or death.

Harry exhaled with a shudder and clambered into the shower before casting a scourgify on the ground behind him. He felt the overwhelming need to cleanse himself of everything. Of himself, if possible. Warm water cascaded down his back, loosening the dried blood and painfully stimulating severed nerves.

Blood continued to trickle down his back and arms before the cuts clotted up. The water at his feet was stained a pink with blood. His wounds stung as the jets of water hit his back. Shuddering, he leaned his forehead against the cool wall. He wanted to stay in here forever, where his problems couldn't bother him, where nothing mattered but water rushing over skin.

The steam fogged up the glass as the temperature rose. The water was scalding, almost as if he could boil away his sins like boiling water killed germs. He shut the faucet off. If he didn't get out now, he felt that he would never get out.

The mirror was clouded with steam. That was good. At least he wouldn't have to look at himself. See what an abomination he was now, especially with the new words riddling his skin.

He walked into his room and pulled on a green button-up and some jeans. He would have to go to the tailors today and get shirts with slits so he wouldn't be going through such an insane amount of clothing by ripping each garment to shreds. Gringotts first though. He had to pay the innkeeper.

Harry pulled on some trainers and pocketed his want and room key. He then realized that he had absolutely no way to access his vault. He had no key and he _certainly_ didn't look like Harry Potter. "Not going to panic. I am not going to panic," he thought. "I'll just go to Gringotts and see if the Goblins have some other way to verify my identity. They have to, right? I mean, wizards must lose their keys sometimes…" Although he did a poor job at convincing himself, he nevertheless set off to the bank.

Diagon Alley was bustling with summer traffic. Adolescents out of school perused the shops as bored parents waited nearby. Throngs of giggling schoolgirls poured in and out of clothing establishments as if it was their sole occupation to shop. Harry wandered through the crowds, finally feeling like he could breathe for the first time. No one was staring at him. It was such a stark difference to what he was used to, and what a refreshing change it was. The people bumping about him made him feel like just one of many in the hubbub of daily life. He could almost lose himself in the crowd.

Striding along the cobblestones, Harry passed several tailors he thought would be good options, if expensive ones. But then again, he hadn't drawn much out of his vault over the years; he could afford some nice clothes and tailoring. Thinking about his vault, Harry felt the familiar weight of anxiety settle over him. He still wasn't sure how he would actually _access_ his vault.

He opened the giant doors to the bank and felt the cool air of the gargantuan marble hall wash over him. He ambled towards one of the lines before long oak counters, still unsure of what exactly he was going to tell them. He was Harry Potter even though he did not even remotely resemble Harry Potter. In fact, the only their mutual aspect was the lightning bolt scar that graced their foreheads. Even with the scar, the newly changed Harry, looked nothing like his old self. How were they to know he wasn't a fraud, trying to get money out of another person's account?

A few steps before the line started, however, he was met by a wrinkly goblin approximately half his height. "Mr. Potter, if you would accompany me, I have much to discuss with you. I am Griphook, the manager of your account. This way, if you please."

Vaguely startled, Harry managed to stumble after the short goblin who was trundling off down a side corridor he had never noticed. They entered a room with a long oak table surrounded by about twelve oaken chairs with green cushions. Harry could see an office adjoining it. The two headed into the office and Griphook handed Harry a sheaf of papers.

"Since your inheritance, it has come to our attention that you do not have the key to your own vault. After a wizard's inheritance, they are legally responsible for their own finances and should have access to their vault. Since this is a goblin-run bank, it is our duty to give any wizard access to his own vault, regardless of the fact that another wizard might hold the key. This is actually more common than you may think, Mr. Potter. Sometimes a lad's parents don't want him to blow his savings on frivolous things and withhold the key. However, it is our duty to give any witch or wizard of age who enters our halls full access to his or her own account. I need a drop of blood directly from your finger on this piece of parchment to verify your identity and then we can get started talking about your finances and addressing the fact that someone else holds the key to your vault. I assume you want the locks changed."

Harry sat back in shock. He hadn't assumed it would be this easy; he had been anxious for no reason at all even though it did make sense to have some way to access one's account other than by key. Blood directly from a finger while a goblin witnessed was a rather secure system in comparison to a key that anyone could steal and use. Harry preformed one of the minor slicing hexes that he had become so proficient at and let a few crimson drops spill onto the parchment. He brought his finger up to his mouth and sucked on it out of habit. Years of schooling hadn't broken him entirely of the muggle habits he had picked up as a child.

Griphook exchanged the parchment for another sheaf listing exactly what was in his account.


End file.
